Welcome to Carista. We are an original fantasy roleplay forum set in the world of Carista -- a place where the eight different systems of control are divided across countries and oceans and blood. The systems of control are Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Ice, Plant, Health and Time -- all given to humanity in ages past.

Now, during a golden age throughout the kingdoms, rumors have come of the Loners discovering an ancient building deep underground that contains a legendary Relic that may hold the key to ultimate power or destruction. And so the race of kingdoms begin with the prize being a Relic of untold power...

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The footsteps of Finnagan Collins were soundless as he Wind Walked across the flat lands of the Ventus Plateau. From those he passed on the road, none would assume where the man was going, nor for how long, at least not correctly. Over his shoulders he had a travel pack slung containing nothing more than one change of clothing, undergarments, a little bit of money, and some travel food. Then again, he was a member of the Brotherhood. In his Discipline, they were taught to have few personal effects, only as many as needed, and take extra care of that which they did have. The suit in which he wore on his person was simple, but finely made and with a fabric that allowed both comfort and mobility, and it was an exact copy of the one is his pack. There was no flash, no lace, no gold buttons or any buttons that a person could see, nothing that would make it a proper suit of a rich man, and yet, even Kings saw it and admired it. There were very few seamstresses that knew how to make one correctly, and typically they made them inside a Disciple specifically for whichever Brother it would soon belong to. While simple, the suit was well designed to have give in the right places, as well as allow several hiding spots for various items, including daggers, which Finn carried three of. It was the suit of the Brotherhood, after all.

Though all of these things came into play and the Brotherhood was known for these suits, they were hardly noticed below the true sign of a Brother. The cloak that hung from Brother Collins' shoulders, that was the telltale mark of a Brother. The cloak was so black that it seemed to suck up any light around it while simultaneously blending in with any and all darkness that it came into contact with. It was a cloak of pure shadow, and Finn walked with the hood pulled low over his face, hiding any feature that might mark him as unique. A faceless Brother was more dangerous than one who could be remembered and recognized. Rumors and myths tended to make the Brotherhood more mysterious and dangerous than it really was. Though there were times that the bedtime stories that the people of Ventus told their children at night were not far from the truth at all. In the same light, there was so much more to the Brotherhood than people even speculated about. Though they were guards, protectors, and assassins, the people of Carista often had no idea that the guards over their shoulders were often gathering information and passing it along to the King of Ventus and their Disciplines. As silent as they were, no one assumed the Brotherhood had a network of information on every person of importance in the whole of Carista. It was that network that took Finn to his current task at hand.

He had been called less than a two weeks previous to a private audience with the King of Ventus himself to be given a task of special importance. He, along with three other Brothers, was being sent to the Kingdom of Valetudo as part of a special protection embassy assigned to the Royal Family themselves. They were to be their personal guards, just like the King had himself. However, they were not only there for such a simple task. No, the King had something important in mind for each of the four. Finn and another were to be the first half of the quad there, Finn tasked with the duty of obtaining any and all information on the Royal family and who might be opening the boarders to invading Glaciens and Undans. His partner in a sense, was to listen and look more specifically for information on the Relic itself. The duties of the other pair had not yet been released to him, but he trusted his King's judgement and left the Palace that very day for the coast.

The journey had been a long one, especially since horses were more than expensive in the Kingdom. Even so, he almost preferred to walk. Thankfully, in a way, the weather had been fair on his journey and none had called him off the road for any reason or another. With fair weather, though, came the dust clouds. Without rain storms to keep the roads solid, the wind picked up the dust and flung it at travelers who attempted to make any sort of travel on them. With the fair weather, Finn had been forced to pull an undershirt from his pack and tie it around his mouth and nose in order to breathe. If he had used Wind to make the journey more tolerable, he would have just gained a person who thought him a good person to travel with. The face cover made social interactions move right past him on the road and thus shortened his trip.

As he got closer and closer to the west coast, the dust storms became less frequent and less severe. A sign that his journey was ending, and that he was getting closer to not only his King assigned task, but to leaving his home. No Wind Controller enjoyed leaving Ventus, for it had the most powerful winds in Carista. He would be weakened in Valetudo, but hopefully not too much so. He had never been there, but there were a few Brothers from his Discipline who had said it wasn't a drastic change, and yet, there had been other who had felt powerless off of the plateau. Worry lingered in his breathing for a moment, before it was displaced. He had a task and he would see it through to death, as was the way of the Brotherhood.

The smell of salt came with a strong wind and all but slapped against the exposed skin of Finn's face. Pulling down the shirt that was wrapped around his face, he inhaled the new air deeply. The new wind was unique, and seemed determine to flirt with him. Wrapping it around his finger slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly in what was his smile, before he released it and moved towards the edge of the plateau. The cliff was steep, but had a set of stairs carved cleanly into the side of it that ran down in a straight line until it hit the rocky coast below. Following the stairway down, he kept his green eyes focused on the busy docks below. There were only two ships at port, and both were Undan ships from the make and size, though the Kingdom's flag flew on neither. Pulling a neatly folded piece of paper from a hidden pocket in his suit, he unfolded it and looked again at the instructions. He was to look for a captain that went by the name of Amado. The passage was already paid for, and the captain claimed he would like to take few other passengers, though once the Brothers were aboard, they would set sail immediately.

The soft sole of Finn's shoes moved silently on the solidified salt air as he moved down the dock, the sea of people parting naturally around him and his shadow cloak. Amado was easy to find, in fact, the gray bearded man was the only person on the docks to put himself directly in Finn's way.

"Greetings, Brother. May the Wind of Ventus guide you." Finn bowed his head slightly beneath it's hood as the captain gave an awkward bow. "I be Amado, Brother. Com' on dis way, she the beu'ty ova 'ere." The man waited for no response and turned, leading the way to his ship. Reaching out with his Control, Finnagan grabbed the salty Wind around him and felt for the Wind Walk of another Brother. Feeling none, he followed the Captain to his ship, though made the decision to wait on the dock for his fellow Brother. There was a pit in his stomach from watching the way the ship rolled with the waves. It was going to be a long trip over to Valetudo.

Brother Ronan Cary loped down the main thoroughfare, his soft soled boots making breathy sounds against the cobblestones. His pace was brisk, but not hurried, taking the time to eye the shops lining the street. It was with an air of idle interest that his gaze lingered on fine clothes and trinkets, no desire apparent in his face or demeanor. He cared little for such things, but found them curious; the things people did for baubles. Not that he was so different, a person just needed to be a lost more inventive with their bribery to get him interested. Turning his attention back to where he was headed, he adjusted the small leather sack of his belongings. It was the one thing he had ever spent a significant amount of money on, and it was for a very practical reason: a well oiled leather satchel was the only thing that would keep his spare clothes and paper free of damp on the upcoming voyage. It wouldn't do if he needed to find new paper when he arrived in Valetudo, if what he brought with him rotted; it was expensive and just generally wasteful. Mentally sorting through everything he'd packed, he resolved to double check the state of his quills before anything important happened.

Squaring his shoulders against his long black Brotherhood tunic, he slipped a finger into the banded collar and popped the button open. If Master Ferguson could see me now... He chuckled to himself, his face allowing itself to slip into a lopsided grin as he thought about the Master of his Discipline, who always insisted that a Brother be properly dressed, with all buttons done up and all loose ends tucked in. A Brother with an open collar would be practically naked to his eyes. Running a bony hand through his wild curls, his smile faded as he saw a sign pointing toward the docks. Right, he was on his way to meet another Brother, from another Discipline. Who knew what strange tics the man would have, what bits of his personality had been stunted. Ronan had yet to meet a Brother he didn't feel had been emotionally hindered by the Brotherhood, himself included; he flattered himself to think he had a little more clarity about it. While this was mostly his pride talking, there was something to say for the way children raised by the Brothers turned out. Odd, to put it mildly.

He passed the sign and turned down a narrow side street, the hem of his cloak snapping dramatically behind him in the wind. The sound reminded him that he should probably raise the hood, for various reasons but mostly to look as mysterious as possible. Pulling it as far down over his face as possible, he double checked the clasp before dropping his hands beneath the billowing folds of it once more. He always enjoyed wearing this cloak, with its eerie, inky texture. It was a little dusty from the travel here, but nothing too bad: he had made good time by riding the winds, passing many on the road below him. If he had been a kinder man he might have helped them down the road a ways, but he had places to be and people to spy on, so it really wasn't much of a priority. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride when he recalled what he had been asked to do, by the King's Aide, no less. Plenty of people were looking for the Relic, but to be sent to Valetudo specifically to listen for signs of it, well, there must be good reason to believe that he'd hear something useful. He had complex feelings about the Relic. As an object, though no one knew exactly what it was, he couldn't care less. As a potential conduit of power, as a historical specimen, well, it made his mouth water.

Taking another turn, he found himself at the dock proper, salt air flooding his senses. It stopped him for a moment, that smell. The tang and the warm bitterness of it, the faint wistfulness it brought up in him for where he was born, though he didn't care to think any further down that path. He rubbed the back of his neck with a rough palm, feeling some of the sudden tension subside, and he drew the hand across the dark stubble on his jaw, letting out a sigh. He had no idea who to look for, aside from a man dressed as a Brother and someone named Amado. Tugging the lip of the cowl down once more, after an errant breeze threatened to displace it, he loped down onto the dock, people parting before him. No one seemed particularly keen on standing in a Brother's way.

And there he was, easy to spot even in the throng, another figure hooded with shadow. The planks of the dock creaking beneath his footsteps, Ronan approached the other Brother, pulling his hood back just far enough for his features to be clear beneath. Holding out a gloved hand, he spoke. "Greetings, Brother. Ventus guide you." His tone was friendly, for a Brother, which in essence meant it was a little warmer than neutral and less wary than it could be. "I am Brother Cary. Did I keep you waiting long?"

With his eyes shut tight, Finn concentrated on thinking about, well, anything that wasn't the tossing, turning, violent ocean that seemed to throw the giant ship around like a child's toy. He was supposed to travel on that toy. A bubbling came from his stomach as it clenched inside him. All of the training for espionage, assassinations, emotional control, all of it was being put to good use -- keeping him from doubling over and losing the contents of is stomach onto the dock. He'd much rather swim. His mind was forced to think about the contents of his bag or reciting the Kings of Ventus internally over drifting back to the crashing waves. Damnit. With a groan, his stomach protested the thoughts of the waves. Fists clenched at his sides, Finn closed his eyes and began a going over his tasks from the King. He was to gain the trust of any members of the family or those near the family, he was to inspect the guards and the man who was charged with border patrol, gain information from any Glacien or Undan he saw, all after taking a ship across the thin strip of sea between Ventus and Valetudo. The ship, over the ocean.

Pulling back the hood of his cloak sharply, he was just about to turn and loose his meal into the swirling mass that caused the illness, when the appearance of a man stopped him before he could even open his mouth. Swallowing, he took in the inky black cloak of the man, one that matched his own, only to have his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He had been scanning the area for Wind Walking since he arrived, so how did this Brother get past his senses? A sweep of his skill around the boots made his eyes widen. The Brother wasn't Wind Walking at all. Odd. Could he be an impostor? The moment the man spoke, he was less assured that he could be a Brother. After all, he Finn had never met a Brother who didn't Wind Walk who also showed a hint of a friendly attitude towards another. It was odd.

"Greetings, Brother Cary,"Finn said formally, if a little weak from the effects of his again rocking stomach. No matter the feeling in his body, however, he kept his face calm and expressionless. The thing he could not fight, however, was the feeling of the blood draining from his face that was surely obvious to the man. Gripping the man's gloved hand, he offered the Ventus greeting in return. "May the Winds of Ventus guide you in return. I am Brother Collins." Taking a deep breath, Finn kept his rebelling stomach on hold for a bit longer, though with great effort. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow and his felt his legs shake beneath his weight as the water crashed around him. "I was not waiting long, though I would prefer to wait a few moments longer...excuse me."

No longer able to control the acidic substance his stomach was producing, he moved swiftly away from the could-be Brother and to the shore. Ducking behind a building, he doubled over and lost every little bit of food his stomach once had, and then some. His legs threatened to give way as they shook violently, but Finn kept his knees locked. As the second wave hit his body, he gave up on his Wind Walk and his soft soled feet came crashing to the ground with a jolt. Everything felt like it was spinning and the ground definitely felt like it was rolling with the waves he had just left sight of. The trip, his task, was not off to a good start. How was he going to be able to complete his task, and well even, if he couldn't even stand the sight of a ship? He hadn't even set foot on the bobbing wooded vessel and already he was a clear land lover. The image of the ship rocking in the bay sent him doubling over once more and losing what felt like the very lining of his stomach. Where was a Health Controller when he needed one.

Pale and legs moving with the surety of a toddlers, Finnagan Collins returned, slowly, to the docks. He had almost forgotten about the other Brother until the black cloak came into view. Trying his best to stand up tall and with a mask of calamity, he nodded his head to the man. "I do apologize, Brother Cary." Eyeing the ship bobbing wildly in the waves, he swallowed with some difficulty. "I think we best set sail." The sooner they got across the treacherous ocean, the sooner he could set his feet solidly on land, so to speak. Suddenly aware he was standing on the dock itself, he pushed himself up onto solid wind and into his usual Wind Walk. His stomach groaned. Perhaps it was best to stand on a solid based while he could. While he was sure his Wild Walking was more than steady, the images of the waves crashing around him was setting his head spinning. He needed the assurance that he was, in fact, not moving. If that was possible.

With a step forward, towards that damn vessel on the waves, Brother Collins stepped down from the wind and onto the planks of the dock. Aboard the ship, Captain Amado was barking orders as his crew leapt around to ready the ship for a departure in the near future. Every few seconds, the bearded man would look over to the mirrored brothers, swallow, and then continue shouting orders. The man did not look entirely comfortable with not only one, but two of the Ventus Brothers as passengers, but Finn doubted that any man would. Adjusting his pack over his shoulder, he took a deep breath and walked up the planks to the vessel that would take him from home, his feet feeling heavy on the wood itself. With a quick glance over his shoulder at Brother Cary, he did his best the breathe again. This was going to be a rough journey. His stomach turned in response to the very idea.

Poor man, he looked a bit pale even for his red headed complexion. But his face had that carefully schooled expression of neutrality that Ronan knew so well and as such his feelings were nigh unreadable. He gripped the offered hand firmly and gave it a good shake before dropping it, his eyes still on the other Brother's face. "A pleasure, Brother." His tone was light, but as the sweat began to bead on the other man's brow his voice faltered slightly and fell away, questioning. And then the other man was gone, striding away between the buildings. Startled but face still neutral, Ronan watched him go. It was a startling loss of countenance, but one he found himself sympathetic to. It was clear the man was nauseous, but why? Had he become ill on his journey? Perhaps he had eaten a bad mollusk, as people were want to do - though Ronan was unsure of where mollusks fell on the scale of 'meat.'

Lacing his fingers together behind his back he casually leaned up on the balls of his feet and returned to the ground, the picture of someone who is just beginning to fidget. His eyes trailed the dock, the people, the colors. The people flowed past and around him, eyes on the ground or looking over his shoulder. They kept a slight distance around him, a few inches but noticeable. He chuckled silently under his hood and looked to the water. The scent of it wafted up from just below the slick wooden slats of the walkway, the smell of damn wood, kelp and dead fish. Looking to where the ships rocked gently, he allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch down into a slight frown. Seasickness, perhaps? But no, it would need to be fairly serious for a man to become seasick merely from standing on a dock next to the ocean. And if it was the case, what a miserable journey this man had ahead of him. He was clearly a few years older than Ronan and most likely much more experienced, but such a reaction could render him less than helpful on the voyage.

A part of him felt that, were he another man, he would have gone after the other Brother, followed him between the buildings to make sure he was alright. However, he found that as he stood there, his hands unclasping and then reclasping before him, he simply did not care. If Brother Collins were in mortal danger, he would of course assist him. But there was no reason for him to follow a man into an alley to watch him vomit. No reason at all. Convinced that standing on the dock to wait for the other's return was the most reasonable and prudent course of action, he was rewarded by the return of Brother Collins, who seemed to be trembling slightly from the exertion of throwing up his lunch. The man apologized and Ronan brushed it off with a shrug of his mouth, shaking his head but changing it to a nod at Collins' next statement. "Quite."

He watched with a very distant feeling of envy as Brother Collins pushed up into his Wind Walk, floating bare inches above the ground. There was still a part of him that desired that, one of the most quintessential abilities of the Ventus Brotherhood, but he easily consoled himself with the knowledge that his own abilities were simply too great for such a subtle display. It had its own kind of beauty, though, and he was mildly confused when the man returned to the ground shortly thereafter. He followed close behind as the Brother lead the way toward the ship they were to embark upon, keeping an eye on the members of the crew. Their discomfort satisfied him.

Stopping behind and to the left of Collins, Ronan leaned down slightly to speak over his shoulder, into his ear. "Is this our vessel, Brother Collins? The crew does not seem best pleased with our presence." There was a faint undercurrent of smugness to his tone, but it was quickly pulled away by the brisk ocean breeze. He opened his mouth to ask if he would be alright for the journey, sickness and all, but closed it again without comment and leaned back, out of the other man's personal space. This was certainly going to be interesting.

Each step he took on the deck of the rolling ship sent his stomach into a fit of knots and strange sounds as it threatened to betray the man yet again, and this time before numerous witnesses. Digging his nails into the palm of his hands, he forced himself to focus on the pain and attempt to ignore the lack of surety in his footing. The wood that built this ship couldn't be anything but better than the wood used to build a home or a set of stairs. He never felt fear standing on a thin set of stairs high above the ground. Even if the stairs were to collapse, he would just use his Wind Walk to get near to the ground. Perhaps, then, that was the trouble with the ocean; he couldn't just Wind Walk he way out of here. His stomach wouldn't even allow him to Wind Walk across the deck. He nearly groaned. This was going to be a very, very long trip.

Words rushed into his left ear, the breath of Brother Cary hot. Fighting the urge to step away from the intrusion of his personal space, Finn instead turned his head to the left to glance at the Brother. Part of him wished to glare at the man for coming so close, and the other half of him wanted to thank Cary for giving him a distraction from the tossing ship. Even so, what he wanted and what he did were very different things. Looking at Cary for a moment longer, he turned away before speaking quietly. "It is." There would not be a ship in all of Carista that would enjoy taking a pair of brothers across open waters. However, there were not a great many ships that would turn down gold from the King of Ventus either. It appeared that, though this crew was more than uncomfortable with the pair, they were comfortable enough with the gold that no doubt helped line their stomachs in ale the night prior. The habits of a crew were likely to follow that set of logic. He doubted a man on that ship saved much of the gold they earned. If so, they did not appear as if they did. Much of their clothing was in rags, patched hastily, and in general not in the best condition. It was as if they cared nothing for their appearance. To further prove his assumption, the smell of alcohol wafted from a nearby crewman before he bumbled away. The words from Cary's mouth returned to his mind. Perhaps the men were acting out of place for a reason. But perhaps not.

Eyeing the bearded captain for a short moment, Finn moved across the deck, ignoring the crew who scrambled to get out of his way, and put his fists heavily on the railing. The waters seemed to shimmer in the sun's light, but he knew that it would surely begin to boil and thrash as soon as they set off from the dock. It was only a matter of time. Turning, slowly, he leaned against the railing and uncurled a hand to pull his hood up over his face once again so that he might watch the crew from below the shadow it cast on his face. The crew seemed, at best, flustered and awkward, and at worst completely incompetent. Yet he was putting his life for the voyage in their hands. This was going to be a rough journey indeed. His eyes followed one particular man as he climbed a netted set of ropes high into the air without any kind of support in case he were to fall. The man seemed perfectly at ease in the ropes, and yet, when either of the Brother's came into their view, a man was sent scrambling and mumbling to himself. Did they expect either himself or Cary to kill them if they looked for too long? Sometimes, the rumors surrounding the Brotherhood were useful with their intimidation, but in this case, the crew's ability to work properly was being hindered greatly. It was a nuisance.

As his eyes scanned the crew, he let them again fall upon the captain, the words of Brother Cary thick in his mind. What if the brother was right? What if the captain was to betray them? There were surely a number of people who would like to rid the world of a pair of Brothers for one reason or anther, and drowning was as good as anything else. Brother Cary could clearly not Wind Walk his way off a sinking ship, and Finn himself was far too seasick to do so either. Was this whole thing planned out from the moment the King assigned him to this task? Was the King himself plotting against him? Finn blinked. Of course he wasn't. The King of Ventus controlled the Brotherhood and the Brothers did his bidding willingly. He had no reason to rid himself of two Brothers. Yet, the notion that Finn nor Brother Cary could walk away from a sinking ship made him stomach writhe. He did not like the notion of putting himself in the hands of another.

Eyes falling upon the other Brother, he sent a whisper across the Wind to Cary. "Do you think it best if we offer to aid the Wind for the sails? Better we have the control over where this ship goes than these tripping toddlers of a crew."

He felt more than saw Brother Collins' discomfort as he invaded his personal space and almost took a step back. But the man craned his neck around to meet his eyes, and looked like he was about to speak. He turned away before he did so, his emotions unreadable to Ronan. No surprise there, but still sometimes frustrating. Taking a small step back then, to give the man the space he seemed to desire, Ronan nodded at the response. The disarray of the crew brought him no comfort; he felt a strong desire to have control of his own fate. Perhaps they could buy a small boat and simply pilot it across the seas themselves, puffing up the sales for speed. But, he had to admit, neither he nor Brother Collins were sailors, or if the other man was, he was doing a very good job of hiding it. With a small sigh, he admitted to himself that they were better off getting on that ship with those incompetent men than going it alone.

Ronan comforted himself with the knowledge that, if need be, he could wind-ride for a significant amount of time, so long as he didn't succumb to seasickness like his Brother. Collins, however, he had no notion of; the man could clearly Wind Walk but how far? For how long? But honestly, there no need for alarm just yet. The men were nervous, not inept. Otherwise the Brothers would never have been on this ship. There weren't so many Brothers that the King could afford to throw them away on leaky ships and cutthroat crews.

He rubbed his ear as Brother Collins' whisper trickled into it, the sensation tickling him slightly. Unwilling to attempt to whisper back and risk deafening the man, he nodded. "Indeed, Brother." This he could do, so long as he didn't get carried away. Tilting his head so the hood hung lower over his face and he looked sidelong at Collins, he asked, "Shall we?" He swept an arm in an 'after you' gesture toward the ship. Not really wanting to be the one to deal with the captain, he waited for the other man to move; Ronan was a bit of a shit, really, but he'd try to get away with it as long as he could.

Finn was surprised when Carey did not attempted a whisper in return, but quickly moved past that fact. Clearly the man was not of the Wind System. Uncommon, but not unheard of in the Brotherhood. If that were so, then why did he then agree to Finn’s suggestion that they aid with the sails? This other Brother was becoming more interesting after each passing moment. He would, of course, have to be watched to further determine his use and skills, along with a correct assessment of his motivations. Something was just off about him, but he was a Brother. He could be trusted.

Moving past the man, he mimic his motions by tilting his head down to further hide his face. There was no reason for Finn to put the captain at ease. Two members of the Brotherhood sent by the King himself were in a superior state than a man aboard his own ship. Any that would argue otherwise would surely find themselves changing their minds in a swift fashion. His steps were slow towards the bearded man, the soft soles of his boots on the rough, well worn wood making an awkward noise to his ears. Though slow, he chose to believe that they looked deliberate this time rather then excruciatingly ill. The more he was able to hide the churning in his bowels, the better. None of these motions actually eased the rumbling and sloshing in his stomach, nor the headache brought on by imagining the ship at sea, but he could at least attempt to act the part of a Brother in good health. Show no weakness for the enemy, or even a possible enemy, to exploit.

Once he was at the side of the captain, he gave a very slight nod of his head. “We would like to offer our assistance with the sails.” His tone was not one filled with a suggestion, but rather a statement. The Brothers would be aiding in the journey, and not out of kindness. Finn did not want to be our of control while the ship rocked and rumbled over the short span of sea to Valetudo. Perhaps he should have left the other Brother out of it, though. He suspected the man was a Wind Controller, however he had seen no proof of this yet. If so, the man couldn’t be more than a Citizen being unable to Wind Walk at all. Would he even be of any use?

Perhaps Finn was looking for trouble, but something in the Captain’s voice made him watch the man carefully. His brow was sweating and there was an odd twitch to his eyes now and again. Nevertheless, Finn followed him to the man called Manny near the back of the ship. Manny began to go over some story about his childhood on a ship, clearly a chatty man, while Finn watched after the Captain from the shadows of his hood. Something was amiss. The Captain moved to speak to another man, smaller, in very hushed tones, his eyes flashing to the pair of Brothers once before the two men parted. Looking to Brother Cary, Finn gave a nigh invisible nod towards the Captain before nodding along to Manny, as if he was listening the whole time. There was something about learning to push the wind with the waves thrown in there, but Finn was too preoccupied with his suspicion of the Captain to notice the chatty man.

Ronan smiled to himself as the other brother stepped past him, leading the way toward the ship. At least the man didn't mind being made to lead. It wasn't that Ronan didn't want to be in a position of power, but more that he didn't want to have to deal with what that entailed: speaking to people, answering their questions, giving them orders, dealing with their bullshit, etc. The one place he was willing to do any and all of those things was on the practice grounds, with his students. There was leadership he could handle, a space he could control and real connections to be forged; and, he admitted to himself as he followed in Brother Collins' footsteps, he didn't mind the adoration that was sometimes leveled his way. Not for being a particularly spectacular man, but for his sheer power and his willingness to share it with his younger Brothers. Mmm, that as well, he thought almost ruefully, was not really a willingness but more the fact that he knew none of them were likely to ever to surpass him, so what was the harm.

Climbing the gangplank behind Brother Collins, he kept his hands tucked into the sleeve of the opposite arm, the picture of a hooded monk. They needed no introduction to the captain when they approached, it was perfectly clear who they were and what they wanted. Ronan remained behind his Brother and to the left, looming over several of the more muscular men next to him. He watched them out of the corners of his eyes, making sure not to turn his head, which would make his actions obvious, as more than one of them shifted uncomfortably. There was no way to know if this was a general reaction to their presence or if they felt him watching them, but he really didn't care.

The man's coarse dialect made Ronan frown with distaste and shift his arms a little further into his sleeves, coming around to be fully crossed across his chest. While he did not expect a seaman to be educated, he did expect to be addressed carefully, thoughtfully. And definitely not called 'lad'. It was part of the point of having a hood: he could be anyone. He could be twice this man's age, though that would render him slightly decrepit. He could be a woman, for all they knew! Lads indeed. A smug smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth; he'd have a chance to show them soon enough.

He followed along behind Brother Collins, now more than ever willing to let the other man do the talking. When the captain split from them, leaving them with an abhorrently chatty man named Manny, how original, he did not miss Collins' almost imperceptible nod to the captain. Unsure of exactly what it meant, he kept his eyes on the man, noting his demeanor as he spoke quietly to the smaller man next to him. Who was that, the first mate? There was something off here, something he couldn't quite place yet. It would take time, though he was sure he would figure it out.

Checking back in mentally with what was happening next to him, he was frustrated to find Manny still nattering away with some anecdote or another, some bit of useless advice. Around them the men were readying the ship for departure, pulling up the gangplank and double checking the rigging on the sails. Several men began the arduous process of raising the anchor and Ronan had had enough. These shifty sailors, he was sure they were wasting his time in one way or another. He wasn't quite sure how, just that it was happening. Time to get this voyage on its way.

"I think this ship is ready to depart, don't you?" he murmured in the other Brother's ear. Without waiting for a reply, he unfolded his arms and held out a hand to stop Manny. "Our thanks for the advice, friend. We'll take it from here." Friend. Hah. He turned his attention away from Manny, who had a particularly sullen, irritated look to him but who fell silent anyway and gave a curt nod, stumping off to do something else. Torn between a desire to measure the strength of the man next to him and to prove his own worth, the latter won out. Rubbing a palm across his stubbly cheek, he assumed a solid stance, facing the sails squarely. Bringing his hands up in front of him, elbows bent; he looked as though he were anticipating a fight, his posture defensive.

Feeling around himself, he reached for the winds of the bay port, emptying his own lungs into them. With an almighty inhalation, the air seemed to draw in around him, the breezes stilling as he gathered them into himself. Eyes shut, he felt the ship shift beneath him, its nose dragging through the water until it pointed out toward the open ocean; he wasn't about to blast the sails full of wind with the ship pointed at land or another ship; he was impatient, not stupid. Feeling the winds beginning to rattle in his ribcage, Ronan exhaled slowly.

The effect was almost instantaneous. He had been trying to let the air out slowly, building up to a larger wind pressure, and he achieved it, but only just barely. It was difficult to explain why, but the easiest way he had found to say it was that it was a bit like uncorking an upended bottle. It wouldn't trickle out, it would race itself out. And so it was with his Wind, the breezes battling each other to get out first. With a firm motion he pressed his palms forward, directing the air released from his lips. His hood snapped off and back, his curly black hair whipping at his cheekbones and eyes. The look of focus on his face was intense, and the well hidden but overwhelming joy he felt at using his System made much of the world around him hazy, unimportant.

The ship lurched, forcing him to take a stuttering step forward before the amount of air being forced into the sails evened out, though the ride was still jerky. If he had listened to Manny, he might have considered the direction of the tide in his internal calculations, but his faith in his own abilities surmounted all. Still breathing steadily into the sails, his sleeves billowing and inky cloak flapping about his legs, he tried to keep his breaths small, though holding himself back was taxing. Part of him wanted to glance to the Brother next to him, to see how he was contributing, but he kept his attention on his own task.

Something wasn’t right with the captain, and perhaps with the entire crew. Their movements were altogether too shifty for the Brother’s tastes, though this idea was only partially processed as he fought down the contents of his stomach again. He knew he should pay more attention to them all, but he just couldn’t force himself to do so if he were to keep his stomach in check and attempt to keep the composure of Brother to those around him. Clenching and unclenching a fist, he tried to focus in on what Manny was saying, though with little result. There were more stories spewing from the man’s mouth than there was instruction on how to fill the sails. Perhaps the man was a fool, or perhaps Finnagan was too ill to see the point in those stories. Surely filling the sails couldn’t be too difficult, anyway. There was another man in charge of the direction of the ship besides, so really all the sail filler did was control the speed of the vessel. It couldn’t have been that difficult.

A visual of the ship speeding across churning and rolling waters sent his stomach into flips and drained the color from his face. Pressing a fist into his gut, he tried to fight the urge or groan or run to the edge of the ship and let his bowels take over. Through the rolling and the rocking that his stomach was putting him through, he still turned a hooded head towards his fellow Brother when words left the man’s lips, giving a slight nod in agreement. Yes, it was time that they depart. Sooner they got off this ship and away from this shady crew, the better.

Brother Collins moved with Brother Cary, though with much slower motions, to stand before the sail. Finnangan was not entirely sure how the other man was expecting to contribute considering he couldn’t even manage to Wind Walk, but it would be interesting to find out. Either way, Finnagan knew that it was, largely, up to him to get this ship moving as their “teacher” had moved away to join his fellow shady crewmen, it seemed. Hopefully there was enough wind at their backs already or Finn would be just as useless as the other Brother. He could not create wind more than he could manipulate wind that was already in motion more than a few inches past its natural, intended path. He was a Brother trained in guarding and protecting, following and observing, stalking and killing; he was not trained as a sail filler for a ship. The control he had over the Wind was in the small movements and motions, not in the large creation and absolute control. However, with the situation they had been placed in by both his words and the words of he fellow Brother, he had to make the best of it and do what he could.

While Brother Cary fixed himself into a position that almost made it seem as if he would be entering a fight, which he very well may have been about to do considering his lack of Control, Finnagan instead stood tall and still. Bringing his hands so they laid flat on each other, his left palm pointing upwards and his right palm pressing down against it, inside of his dark cloak, he closed his eyes and gathered the feeling of the wind moving around them. As he reached out with his control to get a good hold on the wind he wanted to Control, he felt everything shift. All of a sudden, the wind was still, but still there around him. He could still touch the Wind, but even if he were to try, he was sure that there would be nothing he could do to Control it. There was someone very powerful touching the Wind with him.

Opening his eyes, he tried to follow the source of the Control. It was near him, that much he could tell, however, until the person actually did something with the Wind, he would not be able to track it just yet. As if answering him, the Wind he was touching and watching began to move, and with a great and powerful force. Around him the ship was turning without the aid of the wheel that usually did so. Finn remained standing solidly on his Wind Walk, letting the ship move around him and his eyes scanned the desk for an individual who would now be obvious to him as the Wind Controller. His first instinct was to look to Manny, the man who usually commended the Wind into those sails, but his face made it clear that he was more than surprised as to the movement of the ships. Before Finnagan could move his eyes under the shadows of his cloak, he felt the Wind grow terrifyingly calm. It was in this moment that he knew he needed to brace himself for the force that was about to hit. Whoever was controlling the Wind was much more powerful than he, there was no doubt about that. Taking a step back, and then another, his hands separated and gripped the railing behind him tightly.

The ship moved with a lurching motion, sending many men stumbling on deck, though there was one man who seemed entirely unfazed by the motion. With his own hood blown back and red hair dancing in the wind, Finnagan looked to Brother Cary, the man who was Controlling this sheer amount of Wind. The look on the Brother’s face was intense as he stood there, hands out. Still gripping the railing behind him, Finnagan studied the man carefully. If he had that much power, why did the man not Wind Walk? Was he from a Discipline where they did not do so? Did he simply prefer not to Wind Walk? He could very well be attempting to hide his element from others, which was smart in a way.

Movement across the deck caught the eye of the red headed Brother. Snapping the hood of the cloak up again, he held onto it so he might be able to observe from the shadows of it. The Captain was speaking to the man who he assumed to be his first mate again, whispering in his ear and making motions to the other men around him on the deck. Not one man of the crew appeared to be doing any job that could be remotely related to sailing. All their eyes were downcast or obviously on the two cloaked Brothers. Something was clearly amiss, and his Brother needed to be made aware of it, if he wasn’t already. Taking a step towards the other, Finnagan’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him. Suddenly his stomach and body were very aware of the movement and the water beneath him. Finn clenched his teeth and took another step and another, all but falling against the mast which his Brother stood before. “Brother,” he whispered through the wind, “I do believe we have ourselves a situation brewing on deck.” Trying his best to stand straight against the mast, he relinquished his hold on the hood and held onto the wood instead, letting the force of the wind push his hood up instead as he faced his Brother.